Monday 10/30/2006 12:06:00 AM

He slipped into his paintbrush and began to read the floor. I looked for the words he saw written upon it. But I think I only understand the language of the walls.

The color quietly percolated inside its can. While we fought with the admitting how far we were from accepting it. I'd never be the lamb. He'd not be the lion.

No roar.

No fear.

Love is just a partial lie. Hate is the rest of it.

I've never hated anyone.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.